


A Lack of Relief

by Caius



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: (comes with the empurata), Slave coding, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, a lack of communication, all things considered, in the present things are reasonably consensual, metaphorical blue balls, past genital mutilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 16:43:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16876464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caius/pseuds/Caius
Summary: In an AU where Whirl is slave-coded to the Wreckers, Perceptor gets Whirl all worked up and fails to follow through.For anonymous on tumblr, prompt, "Whirl has slave coding and Perce unknowingly has master status over him along with all the other wreckers." Originally posted on tumblr February 17, 2016.





	A Lack of Relief

Whirl’s spark was willing. Very, very willing, and sure he’d (almost) stopped obsessing about what was the code and what was really him, for whatever value of _really_ Whirl even existed anymore.

He was a watchmaker, after all, not a code analyst, and he wasn’t even a watchmaker anymore.

But, in any case, even before the thrill of being ordered to bend exactly 57° forward from vertical and retract his posterior input port cover, Perceptor had been doing weapon upgrades for him for basically, well, forever.

There’d been more words for gun parts than Whirl had even known existed, and so many fingers and tools up in his gunrack that Whirl would have swooned if Perceptor hadn’t kept ordering him to hold still, to open port HMI-F1A or retract the 30mm tube into slot 4A, and above all to stay attentive.

The obedience was enough to make Whirl’s processor buzz with pleasure all on its own, and somewhere a background process was wondering if Perceptor knew.

(Impactor had known, but no one had told Springer, and Whirl was never quite sure about Kup, these days.)

In any case, by the time Perceptor finally remarked that Whirl’s core heat was a full 31.5 degrees out normal range, and Whirl had responded with a leer and a suggestion about how Perceptor could relieve it, the order to bend over and open up was a lot more welcome than usual.

“Shove it right in, Perce,” Whirl said over his shoulder, lounging seductively at exactly 57° from vertical and rubbing his shiny new chest guns lewdly.

Perceptor, sadly, did not have to obey. He approached the port with lubricated fingers first and wasted several eternities (or as Perceptor might say, 24.4 seconds) of their time by trying to stimulate systems that had been stripped long ago.

Whirl could feel Perceptor about to say something behind him and frantically attempted to cut him off by wiggling his aft at him and taking. “Gun oil’s a kinky little touch but don’ ya have a gun that needs to go off? C'mon Perce I know all this science and violence gets ya heated up, shove that big piece up me and and gimme some relief.”

“Maintain position,” Perceptor said finally, and then, finally pulling his fingers out, “Pedes 1.24 meters wider. Then maintain.”

“Fragging slag yes,” Whiek said, spreading his legs and freezing, the thrill the coding gave for obedience blending into the burning stretch of Perceptor’s spike pushing into him. “Yah, you want my port, I can feel it.”

For first three and a half strokes, it was amazing. Physical sensations of heat, pressure, and the tingle of Perceptor’s field close above; the excitement of being used and degraded; the end of a long tease and the prospect of relief.

But too quickly it all slipped away, and it was just Perceptor’s spike sliding in and out of a hole that had been stripped bare of pleasure sensors long ago.

And from the way Perceptor was angling his thrusts, he was trying to…Whirl burst into laughter.

Perceptor stopped moving. “What is it that you find humorous?” 

It was a question, not a command; Whirl did not have to answer. Perceptor sounded offended but Whirl was frankly too horny to care. “Why’d you stop?” he demanded. “C'mon, pound me till it hurts. I know you’re into that.”

Perceptor pulled out altogether, and Whirl heard the painful scraping of a primed spike being retracted. “Lighten up, Perce! I’m aching here!”

“In which case, more pressure in the affected area will only exacerbate the problem.” Perceptor turned away, and Whirl took it as permission to stand up again.

“Don’t go all medic on me Perce. If yer not gonna finish what ya started I’m gonna…!” Whirl spun and grabbed one of Perceptor’s guns, not his favorite but good enough for the job, “Gonna use this instead.”

“Put that down!” Perceptor commanded. “And - and leave this lab, immediately.”

“Frag you,” Whirl said, dropping the gun with none of the respect it deserved.

But he had no choice but to obey. “If you won’t do it I’ll get your ‘Con fragtoy to do it instead!” he yelled as he slammed the lab door behind him.

And then he went off to sulk.


End file.
